


Learn to Lose; It's Easier that Way

by musiclily88



Series: Wasted Youth// There Wasn't Much to Waste [13]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Smoking, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No one who has it actually deserves it. Thought you’d have figured that out by now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn to Lose; It's Easier that Way

**Author's Note:**

> Angsty, stupid boys.
> 
> Also I'm posting this rather than study for a bio test because graduate school blows and it can basically suck my dick

Louis walked back downstairs to find Niall and Zayn lounging on the couch playing video games. Zayn spotted him out of the corner of his eye, sighing with exhausted resignation. “Back already, are you?”

“Kind of required when you’re camped out in my fucking house, layabout.”

“Hate you.”

“I like you so much better when you’re naked,” Louis responded, grabbing the controller from Zayn’s pliant grasp. “You’re kinda boring like this.”

“You two are gross,” Niall groaned, kicking his feet forward from his spot on the sofa. “Is this foreplay for you or something?”

“Not even,” Zayn scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tried to grab the controller back from Louis.

“No way,” Louis agreed.

Niall snorted. “Yeah. Like someone whose hair looks like _that_ didn’t just have sex.”

“Hey! I washed it.” Louis surveyed the room, tossing the controller back to Zayn before standing up to grab more wine.

“Did you?” Niall asked coyly, lips pouting. He leaned up to ruffle Louis’ hair.

“Tease.” Louis narrowed his eyes at them both before leaving the room to get more alcohol. “Liam?” he asked, entering the kitchen.

“Yeah, be out there in a minute. Just looking for—oh, found it.” Liam’s back was to Louis, as he was rummaging through the refrigerator distractedly.

“Right.” Louis stopped near the wine rack, collecting a new bottle for himself and opening it with ease. He returned to the other room to watch Zayn and Niall pathetically try to beat one another at a game they were both failing to win.

“How was it then?” Zayn murmured, acting unperturbed despite it all.

“Oh ya know, mate, really. You should see the way he bites down on the sheets.”

“Gross,” Niall groaned, throwing his controller at Louis’ face, darting upward out of his seat. “So gross.” He wandered into the kitchen, out of Louis’ eyesight.

“Cut it with the dirty flirting, by the way,” Louis said, flicking Zayn the V. “It’s old at this point.”

“But it’s such an energizing part of my day!” Zayn protested. “What do you want me to do instead?”

“I want you to leave off. For at least a little while.”

“Not happening.” Zayn shot him a wicked grin, tucking their bodies up close to one another.

“You’re worse than you pretend to be, even. Just bad, wholesale.” Louis assumed he was mostly joking, though to what extent, he was unsure.

“Don’t tell me,” Zayn breathed, smile sharp He shunted his face into Louis’ ear, curling their bodies together. “Everything went so well. There were proclamations of love and desire, and one of you cried. And it was beautiful and tender. And you held one another, speaking about your hopes and dreams for your future together.”

“It gets less impressive the more you try to do it,” Louis muttered, teeth gritted together, body turned away from Zayn’s.

“I know you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do, though. I am you, a bit.” Zayn bit his lip seductively. “Just prettier, of course.”

“You aren’t. Neither of those. Nor as rich. Add my intelligence on top of that and I’ve really hit the trifecta.”

“Intelligent? You?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“They lied.”

“No really. I’ve been tested.”

“So your parents really did suspect you’re crazy then? Spent just enough time with you to get freaked the fuck out and get you evaluated?”

“No, actually. My teachers got mad at me for being a little shit during class. Which I did because I was bored.” Louis sagged into Zayn’s embrace despite himself.

“So not much has changed, then.”

“Not really. Everything sort of stays the same forever, doesn’t it? Just another new house and another Rolex and another new Benz for me to drive. So I can forget I have to try to ingratiate myself into another group of people who pointlessly hate me. Not that it works. It all just goes on and on in a loop.” Louis shrugged, which was difficult to do in Zayn’s clinging grasp. “And to make it all worse, I don’t even deserve any of it. Done nothing to deserve a fucking piece of it.”

“Nobody does. No one who has it actually deserves it. Thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“Not even you? I mean, I know you’re not as well-off as me, but we can’t all have my luck.”

“No. You don’t know how my family got to—got to where we are?”

“No,” Louis mused slowly.

“Seriously? You’re gonna love it. My parents own a hefty series of international manufacturing companies.”

“Neat.” Louis rolled his eyes.

“They manufacture high-end weaponry and artillery.”

 _“Oh my god.”_ Louis threw his head back and laughed, nearly knocking his skull into Zayn’s face. “Oh my god, they’re arms dealers. That’s such a fucking cliché. Next you’re gonna tell me they run a fucking drug cartel or a sex-slave ring. Oh my god, this is brilliant.”

“Yeah, well, I get called a terrorist enough as it is, being, well.”

“Muslim?”

“Yeah. And I mean, they sell only to government military outfits, but still. That doesn’t make them immune from judgment.” Zayn tucked in tighter to Louis, curling his legs up to his chest.

“You ever thought about doing something about it?” Louis whispered.

Zayn snorted. “Like what, vigilante justice? Steal all my parents’ blood money and donate it to the poor?”

“It does seem a bit pointlessly condescending, doesn’t it.”

“Since when do you care about being condescending?” Zayn pointed out, mouth close to Louis’ ear.

“So I can, what, pretend to make a difference in the indifferent world? So I can throw myself into the hobby of creating something beautiful? I can’t do that. You know that. I only make things worse.”

“Ha, and your psyche’s just this little delicate flower that can’t bear to fail at anything. That’s why you haven’t done anything worthwhile.”

Louis strained his ears, trying to hear what Niall and Liam were doing in the kitchen. He heard them rattling cutlery and laughing quietly. “Can I ask you something?” he asked in a low voice.

“I guess.” Zayn’s voice was strained, cautious. He shouldered away from Louis slightly, trying to look at him sideways.

“Have you ever tried to kill yourself?” Louis avoided Zayn’s stare, avoided his gaze entirely.

“No.” Zayn shook his head, biting the front of his bottom lip with two teeth.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Louis breathed, voice light so as to almost be insubstantial.

“Hasn’t everyone?” Zayn replied shortly, shrugging away slightly.

“But have you wanted to? Really wanted to?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’ve wanted to.”

“So—and what stopped you, though? From trying.” Louis’ eyes pricked, wet and sharp, as he tried to look nowhere at all.

Zayn swallowed before biting the inside of his cheek. “Well. Oh. If I’d—if I’d even tried, not just if I managed to do it, but if I tried, I would’ve—disappointed or like hurt everyone who ever even _tried_ to love me, _tried_ to take care of me. After the effort people’ve put into me, it just seemed—horrible to do that, to fail them like that. Even if they don’t understand. Even if they don’t care as much as I need them to. They still care.”

“What if you can’t help it? What if nothing makes you want to stop?”

“Oh. I don’t know.”

“You’re not gonna make fun of me? Surprised and a bit let-down.”

Zayn snorted but didn’t respond.

“Aw, poor kid,” Louis added instead, mocking himself. “My parents are rich and I’m sad. My life is so hard, why me, what have I done to deserve this wretched life? Hate me hate me, I’m so ugly and sad.”

“Fuck off.” Zayn bit his lip. “It takes courage to live when all you want to do is die.”

“Sometimes all it takes is apathy.” Louis yanked himself away from Zayn, untangling their limbs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go drink myself to sleep. Na-night.”

***  
“Hey!” Lottie crowed, leaping bodily onto Louis’ bed and jumping up and down around his feet.

“Fuck off.” He yanked the duvet fully over his face, his mouth dry and sticky with disuse. 

“Yvonna needs to get you dressed for the charity gig tonight.” Lottie prodded his legs with her elbows, digging in hard.

“Tonight?” Louis groaned, pressing his face into the pillow. “What day is it?”

“Saturday. Evening.”

“Shit. So I’ve been asleep for twenty-eight-odd hours?”

“Guess so, yeah. Mixing booze and barbiturates again?”

“I don’t remember.” Louis finally opened his eyes, sparing his sister a glance. 

She was dressed in a pale-blue dress, barefoot at the edge of his mattress. She jumped, emphasizing how prone he was compared to her upright giddiness. “What should I do with my hair?”

“What, we’re all going?”

“The twins have a sitter but the rest of us have to make an appearance, apparently. What should I do with my hair?”

“How should I know? Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I was born with hairstyling abilities. Wear a flower crown for all I care.”

“Flower crown? Really? Why not suggest I wear a princess hat and carry finger-cymbals. Shit, Lou.”

“What am I meant to wear?”

“Yvonna laid out a suit for you. One of the navy ones.”

“Hm. I don’t mind the navy ones.”

“Yeah, she thinks it looks nice with your skin tone or something, I dunno. I got bored when she stopped complimenting me and started talking about you.”

“Is this a tie kind of function or can I go open-shirt?”

“Hell if I know. Err on the side of tie.”

“I hate ties. I always want to garrote myself with them.”

“They look nice. Make you look like less of a dirty hobo heathen.” She bounced slightly, kicking against Louis’ ankles in the process.

“I hate them regardless.”

“Just think. Some hottie can use it to yank you into a cute yet chaste kiss.”

“I don’t think Liam’s going to be at this thing, actually.”

“The Maliks will be,” Lottie said in a sing-song voice, spinning around Louis’ bed distractedly.

“So?”

“So where better to proposition a threeway than a charity dinner for Somali orphans?”

“Shit. Is that what this is for?” Louis exhaled sharply, dropping his head back onto the pillow. “Kill me, please.”

“Hm. Suppose I could feed your body to the orphans if I did that. Not that I know any orphans, right offhand.”

“Give it a few years and a bit more heavy drug use. It’ll happen.”

“Get dressed and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Easier said than done, little sis.” He flailed his legs awkwardly in her direction.

“Believe me. I know.” She hopped off the bed lightly before fluffing out her hair. “I’m thinking soft curls,” she mused, tucking her fringe behind one ear.

“Brilliant. You’ll be a masterpiece.”

“What are you doing with yours? Not that lazy, downtrodden, limp style, please. At least try to fix it a bit.”

“Why, do I embarrass you?”

“Daily.” She pursed her lips in consideration. “Quiff might do it, yeah? Look like you give a damn.”

“But I don’t.”

“No one needs to know that but you.”

“Fine. Go away now.”

She swathed out of the room, slamming the door behind herself. Louis showered perfunctorily, scrubbing the gritty feeling of drugged sleep off his skin. Then he got dressed, white dress shirt under the pressed navy suit. He decided to forgo a tie. He let Yvonna fix his hair into a structured quaff, choking down a sarcastic response when she asked what he thought.

‘”Looks good,” he said. And it did. He knew he cleaned up well just as much as he could pull off looking like a rich layabout. But the swept-back hairstyle Yvonna had concocted for him made him look sleek. It emphasized his cheekbones and the line of his jaw, giving him a foxlike demeanor. He grinned, appraising his appearance.

Louis could certainly say he wouldn’t embarrass himself or his family based on his looks. Behavior was perhaps a different arena entirely.

“Don’t you look handsome,” his mother said as he descended the stairs. She was fixing her lipstick in the large foyer-mirror, highball glass in one hand. She met his gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

“Thanks. As do you.”

“Paul’s pulling the car around front in twenty minutes. Are your sisters ready?”

“Fizzy’s getting her hair fixed up. Nearly done I think.”

His mother looked lovely as ever in ice-blue silk, hair pinned up making her look just as angular as he did. Say what one might about his family, they knew how to highlight their best features.

“And Lottie?”

“Done but for choosing between two pair of near-identical heels.”

“Oh, Louis,” his mother breathed, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a boy.”

“I am at that.” He gave her a small nod, moving toward the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine. His stepfather sat at the table, nursing two fingers of whiskey with a sour expression. He tipped his head up when Louis entered, eyes unreadable. 

“Car here?”

“Twenty minutes,” Louis responded, locating a clean glass and a mostly-full bottle of wine. “Says mum anyway.”

“Right. That’s a good suit. Nice choice.”

Louis refrained from mentioning that Yvonna had not only chosen it but also pressed it and set it out for him. He simply tipped his chin up, acknowledging the compliment. He hustled to fill his glass and leave the kitchen, entering the front room with relief. At best, his stepfather made him uncomfortable. At worst, his stepfather made him feel enraged.

He chugged a glass of wine, fiddling with one of his cufflinks. No matter how many ridiculous functions he attended, they never got any less stupidly awkward. He felt like a shiny accessory trotted out to prove his family was likeable, relatable—somehow not deliriously removed from the rest of the world. He was used to it—used to feeling superfluous and overdressed and forcefully beautiful. He was used to putting on a show.

Lottie swished into the room, biting her lip. “Car’s here.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me I look nice.”

“You look lovely.”

“Thanks, big brother.”

Louis stayed silent throughout the entire car ride, focused on pointlessly scrolling through his phone. He listened to his sisters whispering and laughing, and his stomach clenched. He slouched lower in his seat, not looking up until they arrived at the venue. He plastered on a half-manic smile and followed along after his family.

He let himself be led to the proper table, gratified that his place setting included a large wine glass. He played his part with aplomb, sucking back wine until the first course arrived—a weak sort of soup served at a lukewarm temperature. He excused himself, claiming he needed to visit the toilet before the second course arrived. Extricating himself from the table, he took a breath.

Louis located the bathroom eventually, running his hands under the chilly water. He was unsurprised when the door opened and Zayn slunk in, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck but this thing is boring.”

“Yeah,” Louis replied, flicking the water off his hands.

“Who are you wearing? Zegna?” Zayn asked, lighting up a cigarette.

“Fuck you, this is Gucci.”

“My mistake. I only have eyes for Tom Ford.”

“This is the gayest conversation I think I’ve ever had.”

“Fitting we’re in the men’s toilet then.”

Louis dried his hands, considering this statement. Then he pulled two pills from the breast pocket of his blazer, swallowing them dry.

“If you aren’t just the prettiest little crack-whore there ever damn was,” Zayn mused before inhaling hard on his cigarette.

“Screw you. I’m in pain. These functions are always miserable.” Louis sighed, rubbing one hand on the back of his neck.

Zayn raised a brow. “Wanna fuck the pain away?”

“In the toilet of a charity for harelip kids in Zambia?”

“Wait, is that what this is for? Not promoting urban literacy programs?”

“I have literally no idea what we’re raising money for. And I literally do not care.” Louis narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“In general? Or this loo in particular? In general, my family likes to make a show of supporting pro-social humanitarian charities. Particularly, I was bored and I saw you leave the room looking like you were about to kill someone.”

“What, and you want it to be you?”

“We belong together. No one else’ll take us.” He began humming _so happy together_ around the filter of his cigarette, smirking.

“Grasping as straws here, mate. There’s nothing happening between us except an ever-increasing amount of bitching.” Louis watched Zayn ash his cigarette into the sink. “You gonna dance with me later?”

He snorted. “I don’t dance.”

“You could try. Might like it.”

“I don’t like things. Gimme one of those,” he added, holding out his hand, palm up. Louis gave him a pill from his pocket—this one happened to be white, he noted—and he considered Zayn.

“I think you were made for Burberry, actually. Just a thought.”

“Sounded alarmingly like a compliment.”

“God knows Gucci’s too good for you, nouveau riche as you so clearly are.”

“And there we are. Familiar territory again. What did you give me, by the way?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hm. Seems like tonight just got a little more interesting.”

“It’ll get really fun when the neon-colored kangaroos appear in your peripheral vision.”

“Looking forward to it.” Zayn stubbed out the last of his cigarette and tossed the butt in a toilet. Darting forward, he planted a rough kiss on the corner of Louis’ mouth, touching both his cheek and lips.

“God, you’re like a fucking puppy,” Louis scoffed, leaving the toilet without looking back. He returned to his table, gratified to see the second course hadn’t yet arrived—and that his glass had been refilled. He set out to drink himself into an early grave, even earlier than the one his stepfather was bound for, given his tendency to overwork and overstress. 

He feigned interest in those around him—none less than his stepfather of course—and waited for something to kick him, for something to _kick in._ He was young and acceptably beautiful, and to top it off he was rich and drunk. He supposed things were going in his favor.

Louis sat back and considered his surroundings. He wondered when in human history people decided that belongings—items—could save them from death. He wondered when people began genuinely hoping that the purchase of a high-end toaster or pair of sling-backs or a fucking _pocket square_ could save them from being damned.

Louis knew he was damned, and he had all the _things_ in the world.

He had a full glass of wine and a classic suit and a wallet of shiny-pretty cards. 

He had siblings and a mother and a father figure, and he had cars and the good sort of education. He had some kind of freedom, he supposed, if he was getting technical about the whole thing. Other people had love, but he had every _thing_ one could want or possibly desire.

He presumably wanted for nothing.

***

Three or four or five days later—he supposed the count didn’t matter—Louis woke up and halfheartedly ran his own errands, needing to visit his doctor before anyone would refill his antidepressant prescription or take him remotely seriously.

So he went to the doctor and he went to the chemist and he bought apple-scented hair conditioner and he tried to tell himself that it was _enough._ And he didn’t believe it.

He regularly lied to himself the same way he lied to everyone else, forcing into his head the notion that tailored suits and expensive haircuts would buy him the world.

Instead they bought him entrance into trendy clubs and restaurants, bought him beautiful accessories that reminded him he was an accessory as well. They reminded him he looked lovely in navy, that he looked beautiful in red.

His mother reminded him he was her doll, that he had perfect lips and marvelous cheekbones. She said nothing of his person except that he was a sight to behold, occasionally noting that he was always so cheerful.

This was a lie. His cheerfulness was a lie built to protect her, to contain her sadness, to remove her from his suffering malaise. He lied to keep her away from him, and it worked. She occupied—preoccupied—herself with his sisters, or pretended to, kicking them off to the nannies and housekeepers whenever she felt it convenient. And she did a lot, Louis noted. His sisters were accessories even more than he was, of course, but he was old enough to be angry about it.

Louis pretended to study the same way he pretended to care about his alcoholic intake, his haircuts, the state of his laundry. He expected it to be taken care of for him. He knew it would be taken care of for him.

He watched Liam complete his own chem lab assignment, not even pretending he wasn’t going to momentarily copy it. He wondered what exactly he brought to the table for Liam, besides a consistently good fuck and a consistently pretty face. Fleeting entertainment.

“Do you dance?” Louis asked abruptly, trying to sneak a glance at Liam’s paper.

“Poorly. My ex tried to teach me a few times but it was just another way I managed to utterly fail as a boyfriend. In addition to the whole _really gay_ thing, I mean.”

“Is she a lesbian?”

“She maintains she’s not.” Liam shrugged, biro poised about his page.

“She _maintains_ she’s not? I’m sorry, I thought we were doing chem courswork here, not brushing up on impressive English vocab.”

“First off, I’m doing my coursework and you’re staring at my junk. Secondly, _maintains_ is not that complicated a word. Third, why do you care about my ex?”

“Seems like a thing worth caring about,” Louis mused lightly.

“Am I supposed to ask you about your exes too?”

“Can if you want to. Nothing to tell, really. They’re mostly just ex-fucks, not ex…relationships.”

“Fucks are relationships too. Pretty intimate ones, even.” Liam flicked his gaze up and down quickly.

“Getting sentimental on me?”

“No, I’m just—look, I’ve slept around my fair share too, and there’s no way you can convince me a fuck doesn’t…mean something. Even if it doesn’t mean everything. Or even all that much.”

“I suppose.” Louis fidgeted in his seat, settling back down carefully. Then he stood up abruptly, moving twitchily. “Be right back.”

“Where you going?”

“Hell or prison. Guess time will tell.”

“Will you get me a glass of water? In exchange for the courtesy of letting you copy my paper.” Liam leaned forward to stare back at his paper.

“Just saying, someone clearly swallowed a dictionary before starting this little study session of ours.” Louis plucked at the hem of his shirt, pulling the thin cotton away from his body. Leaving the room, he swallowed thickly, his throat catching slightly.

He rounded into the kitchen, spotting Fizzy in front of the open freezer door.

“Sis, what’s absorbing you here?”

“Trying to decide what to eat, obviously,” she answered, face hidden by the freezer door. “Oh, cherry and chip, my favorite! I love it.”

“It’s an inanimate object, Fizz.”

“Yeah. And?” She removed her head from the refrigerator’s interior, giving him a quizzical glance.

“You l—nothing. Do we have any more ice cream?”

“Bit of strawberry, pint of lemon ice. I think some chocolate but not much,” she answered, moving to grab herself some cutlery.

“Right.” Louis moved away from the fridge with a cup of water, collecting himself a bottle of wine and a shiny-clean glass, shuffling himself back toward Liam.

“Thanks,” he said distractedly, glancing up after a moment, receiving his water from Louis. “What were you doing?”

“Coke, taxes, the local census. Psychological research. The usual.” He sat down again, sipping wine and watching Liam with his excessive attention to detail.

“Honestly, Lou,” Liam murmured, eyes on his paper, reticent. “I love you, but you’re a goddamn liar.”

Louis closed his eyes with a grimace, somehow managing not to swallow his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to yell at me or tell me I'm a ferocious goddess (hahaha _please love me_ ) my tumblr is:
> 
> musiclily.tumblr.com
> 
> Also I totally have two playlists based on this obsessional fic, let me know if you want me to post them/share them at some point xx
> 
> EDIT: Here's the first of the two playlists:
> 
> http://8tracks.com/musiclily88/wasted-youth
> 
> EDIT: Here's the second playlist:
> 
> http://8tracks.com/musiclily88/wasn-t-much-to-waste


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